6
" We’ve told you before—rollwhen you land a fancy jump,” Wilford squinted in the sunlight as he yelled. “Use your shoulder to take the brunt of your fall and move with it, or you’re going to twist an ankle or break a wrist one of these days!”
Tari—impressively—managed to sound like an angry bear as she translated it into Elvish.
Gwendafyn nodded as she stood and gave her sword a test twirl, then yipped when her opponent wrapped a meaty hand around her left ankle and pulled it out from under her.
“Stay aware of your surroundings,” Thad instructed as he narrowed his eyes. “No opponent is going to stop and let you catch your breath!”
Gwendafyn kicked like a jackrabbit, yanking her leg free, then rolled away from the soldier.
“For the love of Lady Tari’s favorite lemon bars,” Grygg grumbled. “What part of ‘fight dirty’ isn’t translating correctly?”
“Don’t hold back, Princess,” Wilford advised. “We know you’ve got the edge—you’ve broken Grygg’s nose three times. That’s a new record. Phelps, here, could use a little bone re-arrangement, too.”
“Shut up, Wilford!” Gwendafyn’s opponent—Phelps, apparently—growled as he staggered to his feet.
Gwendafyn crisply nodded when Tari finished translating, then promptly turned and flung her wooden practice sword at Phelps with deadly accuracy.
The soldier swore and had to throw himself to the ground to avoid it. Gwendafyn closed the distance between them with the blink of an eye, extended her elbow, and rammed the soldier in the spine with the hardest bone of her elbow.
All of Phelps’ air left him in a painful-sounding exhale, and for a moment, he went limp.
“Ouch,” Grygg winced in sympathy. “That had to hurt. "
― K.M. Shea , Royal Magic (The Elves of Lessa, #2)
8
" Rollo cleared his throat. “If you will excuse me, Princess Gwendafyn, Her Majesty Queen Luciee has some questions for you.”
“I’ll translate for her,” Benjimir said in Elvish.
“No,” Queen Luciee said in Calnoric, her voice encased in ice. “….don’t trust you…change words.”
“Rollo, did the queen just imply Benjimir might not tell her the truth?” Gwendafyn murmured.
“Um…yes,” the translator said.
A muscle in Gwendafyn’s eyebrow jumped in irritation. “I see.” It’s a shame Queen Luciee was not bonded to Aunt Lorius. I’m certain they would get along splendidly. No, she is worse than my aunt. At least Aunt Lorius believes in what she presses upon me. Queen Luciee enjoys crushing the spirit of others. Gwendafyn had not missed the way the queen had shot down Princess Claire…
“….Unnecessary, Luciee,” King Petyrr said. “Benjimir and Gwendafyn married….love each other,” he said.
Queen Luciee narrowed her eyes. “I’ve thought…suspicious…an elf could love Benjimir.”
Benjimir stiffened next to her, the expression on his face unreadable.
In that moment, Gwendafyn wished she could wipe the smug look off the queen’s face. She knows Benjimir loves Yvrea—she must have been informed of it when he was sent into exile. How could she say such a hurtful thing to him when she is his mother?
Anger rolled off Gwendafyn in waves. It was only years of experience in shoving her rage down that kept her from glaring. Instead, she fixed an unconcerned smile on her lips.
Rollo cleared his throat. “Queen Luciee wishes to ask if it is true you sing a ballad to Prince Benjimir after lunch every day.”
Benjimir squeezed her hand, but Gwendafyn ignored it and made a show of widening her eyes and fluttering them. I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I’m not going to let her try and make Benjimir look like an idiot.
“Of course,” she said in Calnoric. When she glanced from Queen Luciee to King Petyrr she saw their look of confusion. Bother the grunts of Calnoric! They are so hard to achieve. I must be mangling this. “Rollo, could you tell them I said of course?”
Rollo nodded. “Yes, Princess Gwendafyn.” He addressed the royal family across the table in flawless Calnoric.
“In fact,” Gwendafyn continued in Elvish. “It is one of the most enjoyable parts of my day. We laugh—and once he even cried over a tragic ballad, though he will deny it—and enjoy each other’s company. I love spending time with Ben.”
Benjimir twitched at the as-of-yet-unused nickname, but he managed to stare adoringly at her.
Yvrea placed a hand over her heart. “How touching! I know you do not normally like to sing for others, sister. It is a testament to your love for Benji,” Yvrea said.
“Yes, "
― K.M. Shea , Royal Magic (The Elves of Lessa, #2)
13
" There was a gentle tap on the door.
“Enter!” Gwendafyn shouted without getting out of bed.
The handmaidens tip-toed into the room, bearing trays of food: quail eggs, bacon, breakfast bread, and more. They studiously stared at the trays as they meekly set them on Gwendafyn’s mattress.
“If you need anything else, Your Highness,” they murmured as they curtsied together.
“We’re fine. Thank you,” Gwendafyn said.
The handmaidens nodded, then hurried out of the room.
“Fyn,” Benjimir said, practically purring as he leaned into her shoulder. “I believe you have ruined my reputation. No one will think me an innocent flower any longer.”
Gwendafyn laughed. “Because surely I’m the swashbuckler out of the two of us.”
“We are in your bed,” Benjimir pointed out as he offered Gwendafyn his plate of bacon. “And here my father kicked up a fuss, thinking I would corrupt you. Behold, how the tides have changed.”
Gwendafyn swiped a piece of Benjimir’s bacon. “I have no regrets,” she announced. "
― K.M. Shea , Royal Magic (The Elves of Lessa, #2)
